Michael Parker - A Covert War

Ali Seema, the interpreter was standing there with Marcus. Seema bowed his head a little.

‘Miss Ellis, please forgive this intrusion, but I would like you both to come with me please.’

‘What on earth for?’ she asked.

He glanced left and right along the corridor. ‘It will be in your interest to come with me. Please,’ he added solemnly.

Susan felt nervous and didn’t know what she should do.

‘Is this about David?’ she asked hopefully.

He dipped his head again. ‘Please.’ He even held out his hand to her.

Susan hesitated for a moment. Then she thought about the reason she was there.

‘Give me five minutes,’ she told him. ‘I will meet you downstairs.’

‘Thank you.’ He glanced at Marcus. ‘We will wait outside the front of the hotel.’

He turned and walked away as Susan closed the door.

Susan went across to the small chest of drawers that graced one wall and opened the top drawer. She took out her handbag and from that she pulled out the mobile phone Cavendish had given her. His instructions were quite explicit; any change in circumstances, any change in plan, or anything she might be concerned about, she was to phone or text.

Susan dialled the number she had been given and waited for the connection. When it came she left the simple message explaining that she was going out of the hotel with Marcus and their interpreter, Ali Seema. She switched off the phone, put it back in her handbag and spent the next five minutes getting ready to go out.

She walked past reception and tossed her key on to the counter, then walked out through the front doors of the hotel. Ali Seema was there with Marcus. He was leaning up against the wall smoking a cigarette. As soon as he saw her, he pushed himself upright and threw his cigarette on to the ground. Then he waived his hand at somebody and stood there as Susan walked up to him.

Susan stopped and waited for Seema to speak. But just then a car pulled up alongside them. Seema hurried forward and opened the door.

‘Please,’ he said with urgency in his voice. ‘Get in, quickly.’

Marcus and Susan exchanged glances and climbed into an old, Indian Tata saloon car that had seen better days.

Seema slammed the door shut and climbed in beside the driver. Suddenly the engine roared into life and the battered old car roared away from the hotel and disappeared into the teeming streets of Kabul.

‘Where are we going?’ Marcus asked after a brief silence.

‘I am taking you to see someone who can help you find your brother,’ Seema told him.

‘David?’ Susan’s voice sounded harsh and breathless; gushing out of her mouth.

Seema nodded. ‘Yes, but please, we must be cautious.’ He turned round and faced Susan. ‘There could be many problems ahead.’

Susan shook her head gently. ‘Why are we acting like fugitives?’ she asked.

He smiled. It was almost condescending. The car lurched in the darkness and threw Susan sideways into Marcus’s arms. He pushed her gently upright as the driver apologised after letting out a stream of Afghan abuse.

‘There are always eyes and ears around us here in Kabul,’ he explained. ‘It isn’t always sensible let your adversaries know what you are doing.’ He held his hand out, palm upwards. ‘Someone is always listening. Once they knew you were in Kabul to look for your brother, you became valuable to certain members of our society.’

‘I can’t believe we are that valuable,’ Marcus put in. ‘We are just two civilians who have no allegiance to anyone except David Ellis.’

‘It’s a point of view,’ Seema told him, ‘but a peculiarly British one. Just trust me and try to relax.’

Susan tried to relax a little but was still not sure whether to trust him.

‘Who are these people who may know about David?’ she asked, trying to keep the tone of demanding inquisition out of her voice.

‘I cannot say,’ he replied. ‘But you will meet them soon.’

Susan glanced out of the window, peering into the darkness. ‘Where are we going then?’ she turned and asked him.

‘We are going where you will find your answers,’ he replied cryptically.

As they journeyed on, conversation became limited until it eventually stopped. Marcus and Susan were left with their own thoughts, each one feeling a little apprehensive. Seema would say something from time to time, but to the driver and always in Farsi. The two men would chuckle and this display of ease between them actually unsettled Susan. Marcus didn’t seem the least bit affected by it although Susan did notice that he was not his usual, lively self.

She felt the car slow until it eventually stopped. Seema turned round and looked at them over his shoulder. He told them they would have to wait a few minutes. He then got out of the car and disappeared in the darkness.

Five minutes later Seema was back in the car. He looked satisfied and Susan wondered if he had used the time for a comfort stop. She asked him.

‘Telephone,’ he told her. ‘I used the public phone in that hotel,’ he said pointing out of the window. ‘Safer.’

‘Who were you phoning?’ Marcus asked him.

‘The Mission,’ he answered, and tapped the driver on the shoulder, barking our something unpronounceable. ‘We are going there now.’

Suddenly Susan felt incredibly nervous. The mention of the Mission, where David had almost died was like a shock to her system. She had never in her wildest dreams, or her nightmares thought she would ever walk over the ground where David had almost been murdered. She thought of the poor woman, Shakira and David’s admitted love for her. It made her feel so sad. Her nervousness trickled through her like a growing storm and she hoped she would be brave enough to face whatever was to come.

About half an hour later the driver pulled up outside the Mission and switched the engine off. Susan and Marcus waited to be told that they could get out before opening the door. Seema beckoned to them as he slid from the front seat and stepped out into the moonlight. Susan got out her side and looked around her. Across the other side of the car she could see Marcus doing the same.

All Susan could clearly see was the Mission building in front of her. It was a single story, bungalow style. Behind it, dark and brooding was the mountain that dwarfed the building. The outline of the hills continued; picked out faintly by the moonlight. There was little definition to anything because of the darkness.

The silence was broken only by the clicking sound of the hot engine of the battered Tata and the sound of Ali Seema’s sandals on the gravel as he walked up the main entrance. Susan turned around slowly, full circle trying to get some sense of the solitude that wrapped itself around the Mission. Marcus walked round to her side of the car and slipped his arm around her shoulder.

‘Soon,’ he whispered. ‘Soon we’ll know the truth.’

Cavendish had enjoyed an evening meal and splendid company in the Officers’ Mess, one that was bereft of the glamour and grandeur of some of the more eloquent messes he had been in during his years in security. He had enjoyed a few glasses of Jim Beam Bourbon Whiskey over ice and felt the consequences of indulging his passion; the result being a little awkwardness when he stood.

Cavendish had been dining with the Lieutenant McCain, and had been joined later by a couple of officers from one of the operational squadrons. Talk had been informative but strictly legit; no secrets being divulged, and much of it humorous anecdotes of past misdemeanours and also thoughts on how the war in Afghanistan was progressing.

It was close to midnight when Cavendish took his leave of the company and decided to take some fresh air before turning in for the night. He made sure he kept to the domestic area, keeping away from the technical site, which included the airfield and perimeters. He had been warned that it wasn’t unusual for the insurgents to send in some hopeful shots, both of gunfire and RPG’s, rocket propelled grenades. It was all more of a nuisance factor than serious threat, but Cavendish heeded the warnings and kept his walk in the safe area.